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You Wobbly Wink-Eyed 
Little Wop 

AND 


The Wobbly Wink-Eyed 
Wop Deserts 

IN VERSE 


□ 


Bp 

J. CLARENCE EDWARDS 

Author oj" 

“Pastime Puns and Poems" 



Copyrighted December, 1919 





<iu ily Bubbles 

□ 

Of the U. S. Army—some three million in 
number; 

Of the 90th Division more specifically, and 
Particularly to the 315th Engineers, to which 
Regiment I was “attached for rations,” 
Being a Liability of Company “E,” 


This little Volume is 
Dedicated. 



© Cl A 558270 


i ti i J 


<\vo 


! 




^|iut Itobbly Mlmk-lEyeb 
Sltttlc Wop 




Jfamuurfr 

□ 

This bit of human nature verse is offered 
you who love the humane in nature. 

Though written under military surroundings 
(when the author was training with the 90th 
Division at Camp Travis), the audience it 
found among the civilian populace was equally 
as gratifying as the reception given it by fel¬ 
low soldiers. 

And it is with a continuing touch of grati¬ 
tude that I here take occasion to thank the 
many Traveling Men, Teachers of Schools and 
Expression, School Children, Girls of Com¬ 
mercial Pursuits, and last and best, Mothers, 
whose letters so generously expressed to the 
author their appreciation of the verse when 
it appeared in the Magazine Section of the 
San Antonio Express. 

It is therefore hoped that this little volume 
may, in a measure, meet the many demands for 
the verses in more permanent form. 


THE AUTHOR. 


Mint Mtobblu iMtnk-iEufb 
ICtUle Mflup 
□ 

You lanky, lonesome little 
shrimp, 

Your tailors cut you kind o’ 
skimp! 

Wye, every slat’s a-showin’ 
through 

The bloomin’ fuzzy hide o’ 
you. 

What makes you shiver? You ain’t cold! 

You’d better calm yourself and hold 
That group of trembly little stilts 
Of yours at military tilts! 

I wonder what you’re doin’ here? 

You don’t look like a volunteer! 

There ain’t a uniform in camp 
’Ould fit to you, you little scamp f 
With food control out here so strict 
It seems to me you’ve gone and picked 
Yourself a sort o’ meatless bone 
To swell your flanks and stummick on, 

For Uncle Sam’s got lots o r hogs 
To feed his scraps, and straggler dogs 
Like you, you bowed-up little hum, 

Ain’t got a chance to mooch a crumb! 






But it don’t take an X-ray eye 
To see your breedin’s purty high— 
lour puppish heart, so far as that, 

Is just as clean as if you’s fat. 

You got a plum good-natured grin 
That makes me want to take you in 
And mornin’s when you’d feel the chill 
I’d love to take you out to drill 
If you could do it worth a cent! 

You think you’d know what “squads 
right” meant? 

And when they’d say “Attention!” Please 
What would you do? Still stand at ease? 
Quite so—and muss the rank all up— 

Oh no, we couldn’t use you, pup! 

But here’s some “hard-tack.” Grate 
your throat! 

I fear it’s more’n your legs can tote, 

But try it. And these 
“German fried” 

’Ave grease enough to 
make ’em slide 
Straight to that spot of 
emptiness 

That keeps your innards 
in distress! 








And, say, old sport, about 
them eyes: 

Wye, they don’t seem to 
advertise 

No poverty, nor that 
you’re blue, 

You optimistic midget 
you! 

I guess you think your 
hide and bone 
Don’t have to look so blamed high-tone 
Just since you keep your heart hung right,— 
But durned if you don’t look a sight. 

Them ribs stick up so drotted high 
Your sides look like a latticed pie, 

And every hair stuck in your hide 
Looks like it’s took the rust and died! 

You’re jest a quiver in the breeze 
That’s likely starved a million fleas. 

But ‘cordin’ to the way I judge 
You’ve got a brain that needn’t fudge 
On looks to get you by, at that, 

And when I get you rollin’ fat 
There ain’t a high-brow dog in town 
That as for “class” can turn you down! 

So just forget your form, old scout; 

Recruits don’t have to be stout; 

We take ’em in and build ’em up— 





I guess ’twould work with Mister Pup— 
So stand ATTENTION, now—Salute! 

You military little brute, 

You’re dog outside but on the whole 
You’ve got a human heart and soul 
And if God’s got one least regret 
I’m sure it’s cause he didn’t set 
That tongue of yours to speech, old top— 
You wobbly, wink-eyed little wop! 








<£he Mtobbly, IBtttk-iEyeb 

Deserts 









































She JDabbly EIutk-Gyeb 

ffloy Deserts 

□ 

I’m sorry, Wop, I didn’t 
know 

That you was fixin’ up 
to go- 

in fact I feel a trifle 
hurt 

To think you’d go and 
clean desert 
And never come around to whine 
An “au revoir” in some canine 
Vernacular, and maybe shake 
A paw with me for Memory’s sake. 

Perhaps you didn’t like the fare 
Of Army Life? But on the square 
You never had to do “K. P.” 

For little things that seemed to be 
Such heinous crimes for us to do; 

And ain’t we most as good as you? 

That is, the best of us. Your bunk: 

You know you sometimes left it punk, 

All tumbled up, untidy like, 

As though your pride was on a strike. 

Yet on Inspection Day the “Top” 

He never took the name of Wop 
For dirty leggins, gun not par, 

And other things they stick us for! 








Or maybe chances to ad¬ 
vance 

Looked at your hopes so 
much askance 
That all at once, without a 
word 

Of any kind, you jest trans¬ 
ferred? 

Perhaps it was a little slow 
The way promotion seem to grow, 

But I’d in mind to make it high; 

Instead of Non-Com chevrons, I 
Wuz thinkin’ that a gold hat-cord 
Around the neck of woppish lord 
Would fix him up a first-class Lieut 
With brains and rank for once to suit I 
And hoping that it might appease 
Your heart to have a cat to tease, 

I’d searched the place out for a kit 

With disposition jest to fit 

The case—not so irate, you know. 

As might scratch out an eye or two. 

1 guess it won’t help things to grieve 
Because a pal goes on French leave; 

And if I only knowed that you 
Wuz in good hands, not even blue, 














And had a nice, warm place to sleep 
Where people thought you worth your keep, 
1 maybe wouldn't worry when 
1 he sleet and rain comes drivin’ in 
The barracks, and the weather man 
Turns on the coldest that he can 
To blain our hides from head to toe 
With temperature ten points below! 

But don't you know it hurts to think 
That you may be right on the brink 
Of famine, or your fatless frame 
Is playin' at a losin’ game? 

But, anyhow, old pal o' mine, 

Betwixt yourself and Him Divine 
That had no better comrade than 
Good dogs like you to give to man, 

I think you understand the way 
I feel about you, and some day 
I hope you’ll come a-stragglin’ in 
To cheer things up for me again. 






It’s awful dreary now, 
and glum, 

When drill is over ’n 
you don’t come 
A-f riskin’ up to wel¬ 
come me 

Back to the barracks, 
for you see 

The best of men gets on 
a grouch 

At times, and lets their feelin’s slouch 
The officers, they ain’t all kind 
At times, and seems it’s hard to find 
One who don’t now and then forget 
That all of us is brothers yet. 

With you it wuz so different; 

No matter how the balance went. 

You never seemed to lose your grip 
On courtesy. You’d come and slip 
Your icy little nose into 
My hand when I was feelin’ blue, 

Or thought I wasn’t treated fair, 

And then the gloom, it wasn’t there! 

And even if dyspepsia jabbed 

You in the “pit,” you never crabbed; 

I always found a mood in you 

That seemed to soothe me thru and thru— 

You knowed just how r to keep me glad; 

That smilin’ little way you had 





Of clearin’ up my sky-line, drew 
My very heart and soul to you. 

And so I sort o’ choke with sighs 
And maybe tears come in my eyes 
When I allow myself to think 
Of how them knowin’ eyes ’ould blink 
With tender things you couldn’t say 
Because you didn’t talk my way. 

My spirits they ain’t high no more 
And bouyant like they wuz before 
When you wuz here and on the hop,— 
You wobbly, wink-eyed little Wop! 




























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